


Time and Time Again

by PinkPeacock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Not Beta Read, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPeacock/pseuds/PinkPeacock
Summary: Tom hated jokes about death in general and Potter's jokes about it in particular.Well, too bad for him, Harry thought, because he will have to endure it forever. After their first life such a thought would be filled with gloating. Now he simply stated the facts, without any hatred or malice. Tom simply was. Just like Harry. And sometimes Potter thought this truth would outlive the world.And technically it did just that.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 5
Kudos: 147





	Time and Time Again

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Из раза в раз](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263820) by [PinkPeacock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPeacock/pseuds/PinkPeacock). 



> There were supposed to be frivolous jokes about the eternal stuff in this fic but everything slipped into sentimentalism and bickering. Nothing new.  
> I didn't tag the death of the characters because it isn’t permanent. But keep it in mind that it's present here. Be careful if this is a trigger for you.  
> Death always speaks LIKE THIS. It’s not me who set the rules but Pratchett.  
> Sorry in advance for absent commas, I ate them.  
> Also, sorry if there are mistakes in general. English is my second language. So please, if you see anything abismal in my grammar or punctuation, let me know.

The kitchen was drowning in semidarkness. The lights were out. Harry couldn’t find candles to make things any better. As if looking at the mirage, Harry saw the outlines of objects as blurry, strangely trembling. The only light source was the flickering of pinkish swirls outside the window. They looked like whirlpools in the sea in the center of which were black holes. They were devouring the quasi-heavenly canvas, absorbing all lights scattered randomly across the sky. Distantly these lights resembled stars. But truth be told, they didn’t disperse the darkness in the room. With their assistance Harry only managed to distinguish a table, chairs, a teapot and kitchen counters. Potter didn't mind. He stopped looking for clarity during his lifetime. Why should he chase it after death?

One could say he was beyond space and time. _No_ , Harry thought, _not quite_. In this timelessness he only conquered a small shred of materiality for his meetings with Tom. But Potter wasn't sure even of this explanation. After all, what materiality could he talk about when both he and Riddle were only ephemeral souls on the threshold of eternity. The same wandering lights the black holes were after. The Dark Lord and the Master of Death were different from the rest of the afflicted ones but only because they were not destined to find out what was hidden behind a closed door.

“Potter, why is there a Christmas tree in the kitchen?”

Harry looked away from the purple whirls and stared at Tom Riddle. He stood in the aisle of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, frowning with displeasure. At first Potter couldn’t understand what made the Dark Lord angry this time. But then he noticed that Tom was deliberately avoiding looking at the mirror on the wall. Riddle even was standing in such a way that allowed him not to see his reflection with peripheral vision. _Oh right,_ Harry thought. _Father's face._

“This time we managed to kill each other on Christmas Eve. I thought it would be nice to celebrate.”

Tom frowned even harder. Although after a moment he went to another chair behind the table, his movements were constrained, cautious. There was disapproval written across his face. He hated jokes about death in general and Potter's jokes about it in particular.

 _Well, too bad for him,_ Harry thought, _because he'll have to endure it forever._ After their first life such a thought would be filled with gloating. Now he simply stated the facts, without any hatred or malice. Tom simply was. Just like Harry. And sometimes Potter thought this truth would outlive the world.

And technically it did just that.

“Pity we didn’t survive until December 31. I’d give you a present.”

“Surely something useless,” muttered Tom in response, not taking his eyes off his hands clasped tight on the table.

Of the two of them Riddle was always more difficult to accept that yet another meaningless life had come to an end. Though Tom didn’t want to show it. He tried to hide the trembling of his hands and the nervous jerking of his right leg, but Harry wasn’t tricked. A part of the Dark Lord's soul was still smoldering in his scar, making it seem like a fresh cut. Because of that Potter thought from time to time that he knew Tom better than even himself.

The whole ordeal was easier for Harry. He had been jumping from one world to another one for a much longer time. Attachments didn’t haunt him beyond one life. And no matter what Riddle claimed, he, on the other hand, was always attached: to power, magic, his Horcruxes, followers. They were invisible threads that followed Tom into the afterlife. All Harry needed to do was to give Riddle time to shake off their gravity. Then the pair would continue their journey. Or, in Riddle’s case, the punishment.

“Of course,” Harry grinned, sipping coffee. “After the fifth life that’s all you deserve.”

“I will not apologize again,” sighed Tom, disentangling his fingers and finally looking up at Potter. This time his eyes were black.

“You snuck into Hogwarts and treacherously tripped me. I fell down the stairs and broke my neck. It was the most shameful death in all cycles. Death himself recalls this each. Time. We meet,” said Harry in exasperation.

In reality he stopped being angry the life after but, nevertheless, it was cheating. After this sixteenth life Harry was greeted with words, HOPE YOU WERE NOT ATTACKED BY THE LADDER. And not only this time. Every goddamn time after the incident. And Harry strongly doubted that Death would ever cease to find this situation amusing, as well as his silly greeting. To be honest, even the idea of the Christmas tree belonged to the Grim Reaper. Harry simply didn’t mind teasing Riddle once again.

Tom smiled thinly.

“Trust you to make friends with an entity that by definition cannot have friends,” he said and slowly got up from his chair to make himself tea or coffee.

The choice purely depended on his mood and the life that he led up to this point. Tea meant that nothing special happened: was born, lived, ravaged half the world, died. But sometimes life dug into Tom, crawled under his skin. At the end of the cycle Riddle felt constant irritation, as biting and poisonous as life under his ribs. In this case, he brewed _nuclear coffee_ in a huge mug without sugar and milk. It was just as sad and disgusting as their existence, Harry once joked, after he tried this poison. Riddle wasn't amused.

Tom carefully added the fourth spoonful of coffee into his mug. He was doing it as if he was about to serve breakfast to the Queen and not cause tachycardia. No sounds of a spoon beating on the walls of the mug could be heard. Tom didn’t move abruptly, as one would expect from a person who had crossed the line of existential horror and reached transcendence only for it to turn into his personal executioner. It was no secret to Potter how skillfully Riddle hid his weaknesses. Childhood in the world of merciless adults and exploding bombs would teach anyone to pretend strong.

Potter grunted sadly, focusing on Riddle’s actions. The Dark Lord was already reaching for the teapot. Sometimes Harry thought that Tom with his movements alone would be the death of him. Permanent, this time. Riddle was moving gracefully even while making coffee, as if he was doing everything strictly according to the instructions but with added artistry to the prescribed economy of movements. Harry wasn’t jealous, far from it, actually, but say he would attempt to make himself more coffee. He would desperately reach for a jar, mug, and the teapot that would be just a little bit too far from him. It would all result in the fall of Harry along with his chair to Tom's feet. And with exasperated huffs of the latter, of course.

“Well, I managed to make friends with you,” Potter snorted, not taking his eyes off Tom's hands. Even his fingers belonged to the world of art. It isn’t clear though, as an exhibit or an attribute of the creator. To tell you the truth, Harry thought the same about Riddle as a whole. It didn’t matter if Tom’s face resembled one of a snake or was inherently beautiful, with precise features and a nice bonus in the form of a nose.

There was a pregnant pause. Harry fidgeted nervously in his chair. He forgot that after a particularly shitty life Tom liked to make a scandal and indulge himself in long monologues, only give him a reason. _Coping mechanism,_ Harry supposed. Silence that reigned in the kitchen was a shy guest unlikely to linger here for long.

“I don’t understand why you put up with this,” Tom said suddenly, not taking his eyes off the mug in his hands. His whole figure was tense, as if ready to grab his wand and attack. It is unclear, however, whom - Harry or himself.

Harry sighed and leaned back slightly, laying his head on the counter. He tried to catch Riddle’s eyes but Tom didn’t look at Potter — he froze and patiently waited for an answer though he didn’t ask a direct question.

“With what exactly, Tom? With your company? It’s not very difficult. When you don’t pretend to be an ass, it’s even nice to talk to you,” Harry smiled, looking up at the Dark Lord.

“No. Yes,” Riddle paused and pursed his lips in displeasure. “I am not talking about that, and you know that. You are the Master of Death. You can go to another world, cling to one life, go, according to old goat’s instructions, to the next adventure awaiting you, to reunite with your family – whatever you wish. But you drag after me like a puppy on a leash. Together with me you experience the same life again and again, without a chance to interrupt this cycle. I simply do not understand why.”

Harry calmly watched Tom's expression, how it was gradually changing along with his speech. How he was frowning harder and harder, breathing torn - from despair, anger or all of them together - how his eyes shone, as if he was about to either scream or cry. Potter knew that Riddle didn’t ask what he really wanted to know. He dodged a direct question in the best Slytherin traditions, holding back and fearing to get a definite answer.

“I chose you, Tom,” Riddle inhaled sharply and finally stared into Harry's eyes, surprised and caught red-handed, “because I wanted to. Because there was no one else who stayed with you not out of fear. And I know better than anyone else that if you only get hatred from people, in the end you’ll start hating them in return. You suffered too much as it is.”

Harry flinched when Tom abruptly smashed the mug. Coffee spread across the floor. Potter quickly raised his legs not to get hurt and mentally prepared himself for Riddle's anger. 

The Dark Lord was beside Harry in a blink of an eye, looming threateningly over him, putting one hand on the counter behind Potter's head and the other on his neck. Not squeezing yet but warning what might follow an attempt to escape. Tom's advantage was a mere illusion, they both knew that. But this only fueled Riddle's fury.

“You think you understand me,” hissed Tom. He didn't take his eyes off Harry, so the latter did not miss the moment the black orbs began to turn red. “That you have a right to my life. That it is some kind of a trophy you, Dumbledore's golden boy with perverted hero complex, must rescue from the clutches of Death. But you cannot, Harry Potter. You come in new forms but with the same rotten core. You use different methods to influence me. But it does not work out. And it never will. Even if during my lifetime I had memories of my incarnations and of our meetings in this tasteless timelessness, I would not believe you. I would continue to kill you again and again. Do you know why? Because not a form determines the content but the content determines the form. And your essence is disgusting to me, no matter who you turn into - an enemy or an ally. You chose not me but one more way to appear before others in a better light.”

“Then whom am I trying to impress, Riddle?” Harry got angry, all of a sudden very tired of this conversation. What Riddle was right about was that the same thing repeated itself endlessly. All their conversations continued to be only an echo of their battles in life, exhausting and strangling. “Everyone I once knew is dead and won't know about my existence until a new cycle starts. Do you really think I want to show off so much that I’m ready to watch people close to me die time and time again!?”

“Then just leave me be!” Tom screamed. The darkness around them thickened, mirroring Riddle's mood. Now both his palms were cupping Harry's jaw. Thumbs laid pleasantly on his face, right next to the corners of Harry’s mouth, but he couldn’t afford himself to be distracted. Tom’s condition was more important, it always was. “Reunite with your family, go for rebirth, live happily ever after,” he said much quieter and dropped his gaze. “Leave me to Death. This is my punishment.”

“No, Tom,” said Harry, placing his hands on top of Riddle's palms. Just like the Bastille fell, Tom eventually clung to Potter's shoulders, hiding his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. Riddle was leaning more and more on Harry, as if comfort for him was possible only if someone else would take away the whole burden of what Riddle was. And Potter thought that one day the weight of Tom’s mistakes would break his spine. “This ceased to be only your punishment the moment I failed to help you. I won’t leave you until we both become happy. After all, what did I tell you at the end of our very first adventure?”

Riddle shrugged but didn’t answer, continuing to seek comfort in their awkward embrace.

Potter felt the moment the universe was reborn and came to a starting point for the both of them. It was time they left.

“Let's finish this the way we started.”

For a while Tom was silent, and Harry thought that the words would be hanging awkwardly in the air until they both just disappear in the flashlight, but then Tom raised his head and looked slyly into Potter's face. _Too close,_ Harry thought and swallowed nervously, trying hard not to look at Riddle's lips.

Tom’s smile was mischievious. Obviously, to see through Harry’s antics was much easier than Potter anticipated. Riddle reached for Harry himself, exhaling the grateful, “Together.”


End file.
